


my head is a jungle, jungle (my head)

by Gabby



Series: before, during, and after (the park) [3]
Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Gen, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Living Together, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Movie(s), Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Roommates, Sweet, little bit, subtle then not so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:49:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabby/pseuds/Gabby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire and Owen adjust to living arrangements, attachments, trauma, and... a connection that proves to be more different for one another than anything before. </p><p>Follow-up to <i>but, the hurt makes it beautiful</i> and <i>our hearts are like firestorms</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my head is a jungle, jungle (my head)

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh... Look at that summary. I mean, why? God, I suck. Like, I could have tried and put down something nice and eloquent and poetic but, no. I just went the straight-forward route and just wrote _that_ instead. Then again, as I write this note, I have had very little sleep. I know what you're thinking (maybe, I can't read your mind; be funny if I could, though), 'if she fucks up, she's asking for it.' And you probably agree that there should be a law. I don't know exactly what about but, like not allowing citizens over eighty to drive with minimal function and after midnight, it could be about writers - even ones such as myself - not being let to put anything down if they'd had little to no snoozies. 
> 
> But, that's just a rough draft... I don't know.
> 
> P.S. The name of this story is from _jungle_ by Emma Louise. Enjoy! :)))))

AWhen one of the first things out of her mouth, once they have both landed in San Diego, is for Owen to stay with her at her house, she can hardly believe herself - even though she's actually more than put thought into it than anything else since before that moment outside of the hanger - but, Claire Dearing is nothing if not shrewd and once she's said it, she doesn't take it back.

And also, despite the moments they'd shared back at that island (the way he'd looked after her in the garage, her saving his life, the short speech before he had gone off with the raptors, the kisses), she doesn't take into account that this is the closest thing to a relationship she's had in five years and it's with someone she had been so sure she almost hated a few days before and has now asked to essentially live with her.

She's never asked _anyone_ to live with her.

She'd lived with her family and then after she had gone it alone. In college, she had only dealt with a roommate for so long before asking if she could go live in off-campus housing by herself. Nothing against said roommate but, she'd just enjoyed her space. She had never not enjoyed being by herself and the freedom it gave her.

Not even Mike, all those years ago after he had proposed, had ever lived with her and as though fate likes to play jokes, after she had thought to ask him to move in, the engagement had ended before she could.

No harm. No foul.

She liked ( _still_ likes) her own personal space. Something infinitely hers. Her very own breathing room to do as she pleases. Whether it be humming to inane music whilst doing paperwork or trying to cook before ultimately deciding to order in (she's not good in the kitchen, it's one of the few things she still hasn't mastered unfortunately) or wallpapering her kitchen whenever she pleases or dancing naked, who cares?

She glances over at Owen as he drives with already given direction to her house and wonders if he'd ever object to any of that.

She doesn't think so (except for the _dancing naked_ part but, well, they're not there yet).

She has no idea where this is headed necessarily but, all she could think about is how she panics or can't breathe properly if he's not in her sights. How he's the only person she can feel safe with right now.

Her logical brain tells her it's hardly healthy but, the other half - and okay, maybe, a little bit, her heart, too - encourages it and says if she needs him this much, so be it.

So, that's what she does. She lets it be.

For now.

 

 

 

She lives on the beach.

He hadn't expected that at all.

Which, yeah, fine, doesn't seem really fair because he doesn't know her all that well and even though she's basically asked that he stay with her for the unforeseeable future, he doesn't know what he'd envisioned in his head, specifically. A townhouse. Big penthouse apartment, maybe. He doesn't know. Just... with the way she is (or how he had thought her to be), he'd more pictured a place more near more stuff. More noise. More everything. Closer to Masrani Corp HQ, where she happens to place a lot of her time at when not at the island. Or so it had been explained to him.

As it is, once her directions start taking him towards more sand and ocean than crowded sidewalk and upscale penthouse (yes, he _can't_ let it go), he hopes to whatever god he may or may not pray to that his confusion doesn't show on his face.

He's either keeping it together well or she's stopped paying him any mind because nothing is said during the scenic drive.

He's still firm that maybe she just lives next to the sea or rather-

Nope. All ideas and/or preconceptions are thrown out of the proverbial window once he rolls up onto a pristine, glass-encased home _right_ on the fucking beach.

It's not the biggest house here. He's seen bigger, ranging to oversized, on the way. But, it is big. He hadn't been wrong on that. It's big and on the outside he thinks, smells like money.

That and ocean spray.

But, it is really nice. Clean, modern, and as simple as Claire's suits with a well-paved driveway. Nice to look at, at least. But, he says nothing because he knows there's no way of saying that to somebody without sounding like a tool who doesn't mean it even when you do so, he doesn't.

Once they got over a small tiff of who's getting the bags - he wins, by the way, fair _and_ square - and they get inside, it's another story.

Claire presses a thumb up against the door handle where a key would go (technology, guys) and as they step inside, he pauses after putting down the luggage.

It's just as clean and minimalistic as the outside though more... _personal_.

There's light, infrequent swatches of color here and there. A painting in the living room where a comfy couch lay with throws and small pillows. A big-screen in front of it. A few photos on a mantle he spots when he follows her into said living area and then a few more nailed to a farther wall. A spacious balcony in front of them with French doors.

He's at a loss for a long moment. This is... Well, it's _beautiful_. Inviting. Cozy. Smells like light perfume and something he wants to lean into.

He glances at Claire. Like it's owner. He thinks.

Said owner looking away from him, though not before he could catch her, teeth pulling enticingly at her bottom lip and with a start, he realizes she's _nervous_.

"What?"

She doesn't look at him again as her gaze travels the surroundings. "Nothing. I just..." She takes a deep breath as if to steal herself and continues. "...I haven't come back here in a while and I... forgot how much I miss it."

That is quite possibly the most revealing, vulnerable thing she's said to him since they got here (barring the confession in the weapons shed, he'll _never_ forget that) and he stares at her. Thinks long and hard about everything they've gone through together. Their pact to stick together. _For survival_.

Of course, after that passes, he does what does best and makes with the funny.

"Well." He turns his head and pretends like he's doing his own perusing when really... "If it makes you feel any better, I've never been in a house this big before."

It works and she laughs. A bright, vibrant, full-of-life sound he'd very much like to hear and be the cause of again. She just looks so beautiful smiling like that, he can't seem to help it. He just wants-

"You're staring."

"You're beautiful." He states out loud without thinking about it with a shrug. "Just admiring the view."

Her eyes widen minutely for a moment before settling back again and he wonders if that'd been too much. He likes her. He cares about her in many ways and they've both agreed on surviving together. They've kissed twice and one of them after a confession of essentially having feelings for one another even before the I-Rex debacle. Even before _and_ after that awful date.

He decides not to take anything back because if it's space and time she needs (and for good reason), he'll gladly give it. He's not that much of an ass and they could both use the recuperation but... if who she wants is some neutered, platonic roomie then she has another thing coming.

That's not why he's here. Not really. Among her being one of the few things that makes sense in a world that has fallen apart around him, he _wants_ to be with her. He'd like for this to be something and he hopes that she wants the same.

He says none of this though because he doesn't wanna push too hard, too fast and instead walks over to her, not at all missing the look in her eye and the hitch of her breath as he does, and takes her hand in his. Feeling around the fine bones. The smooth alabaster of her soft skin. The pulse thumping beneath slim wrists.

He looks her in the eye as he cradles them in his gentle grip. "I'm gonna make us some dinner." He says after a minute. Wanting nothing more than to keep her mind off of all that's gone on. Keep _his_ mind off of what's gone on. "If that's alright with you?" He adds, once again not wanting to be pushy. "

He takes a long moment to enjoy the dreamy expression on her lovely face before she seemingly shakes it off and speaks with equal parts relief and surprise. "Uh, yes... Yes, of course, I actually hadn't thought of that. Jesus." She exhales and then makes to move away and around him. "I'll just see if I still have..."

He tightens his hold on her, not letting her go nor allowing her to move one more inch. "No. I got it."

"But, I-"

"Claire." He interrupts with light warning. "I know my way around a kitchen." He adds, teasing her a little bit and enjoying the blush that spreads over her face. "Just... _let_ me do this." He asserts, willing her to understand him. To let him take care of her for now. "I got this."

For a long moment in time, he honestly thinks she's abut to start arguing with him. He wouldn't expect any less. It does tend to be their baseline most of the time anyway.

As it is, he's relieved when she eventually nods. "Alright." She utters as if to convince both of them and then nods again. "Alright. OK. I'll go-"

"Relax." He finishes with encouragement and watches her eyes intently. The shades of emotion over her face. Squeezes her fingers gently. "Go take a soak or... _whatever_ it is corporate types do in their spare time." He adds with a laugh and is pleased when she goes along with it.

"Pfft." He does let her go this time and allows the scent of night-blooming flowers and vanilla wash over him as she steps around him. They had run around the jungle together covered with sweat and dirt and yet she smells like none of that ever happened. "Just don't completely destroy my kitchen."

He keeps a keen eye on the sway of her hips. "So, just a little bit then?"

She literally snorts this time and says. "I won't dignify that with a response." As she disappears up her stairs and out of his view and he decides that he rather enjoys kinder, compliant Claire. Even though he wouldn't mind that old her (minus the cold, clinical approach towards life) back. And he knows that in order for her to get back to herself, she's gonna have to trust him a little and relax. Take some time for herself.

And he really wants to help.

So, he starts with dinner.

 

 

 

They have _pasta pomodoro_ out on her balcony and Claire tries very hard to not read into this feeling a lot like the second date she barely remembers not wanting (she knows, oh, she _knows_ why, she just can't recall being so against it for so long now) and then there's Owen looking more handsome than ever and there's actual candlelight - he had gotten into her forgotten stash of the vanilla ones under the stairs - and the warm-cool day has turned into chilly night and well, she forgets what she'd been thinking about.

That and he had found the best red wine she owns and between the blue dress that she'd draped on after her great bath (he had been right, relaxing _isn't_ so bad), not really knowing what to expect before she had met him in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner, and the forest green Henley and jeans he had kept on, this feels like the best second none-date she's ever had.

That and the food is delicious. She honestly shouldn't feel this surprised that he's good in the kitchen but, well...

"I didn't know you could cook." She utters, taking herself (and him, she suspects) aback by not decidedly not sounding like she had once thought him mostly a hunky jock-type who coasts through life and who's only talent had been imprinting on dangerous animals.

There's a little bit of that in there, she's sure and she'd thought only briefly even back when they had had that awful (first) date.

She may or may not have perused his file a few time. Solid academic career. Good, competitive college. Three degrees. And then the Navy where he had excelled much like before.

Even then, she'd quickly figured him to be more than meets the eye.

She should have known.

"Well, there's only so many times I could bike it down to Main Street for the few places to eat there." He says after a taking a drag of beer and then refilling her wine glass after seeing that she's low. "I had to teach myself to make due."

She doesn't know why she says it but, it comes out before she can stop it. "Not just tequila and nachos, then?" She teases, to her own surprise, and when he meets her eye with an impish grin, she relaxes and feels herself smile back.

"Not so much. No." He takes a hearty bite of his larger portion of dinner and waits til he swallows to speak again. "And my mom never had a ton of time when I was growing up but, when she did, she taught me a few things." He adds with an expression she could only call fond.

"I can't cook to save my life." She admits after a moment. Feeling like sharing a small part of herself as he just had. "It's one of the few things I could never get and it always frustrated me."

He chuckles. A deep sound coming from his chest that makes her wanna get close and curl up into him. "You? Bad at something?"

She ignores the impulse and instead allows a laugh to escape, hardly missing the look on his face as she does. The same look she's so sure she'd seen earlier when they had gotten here. "Yes, Mr. Grady. I am human, after all."

She's certain the statement comes out more flirtatious than she intends but, with the way he gazes at with warm, playful eyes and that smirk that's always turned her world on it's axis, she can't bring herself to care.

"Actually, I think you're a little more than that but, I'll take it." He utters with a wink and she hopes that the ambient lighting hides her blush because god, he could bring out the wild beast in a _nun_ if he wants to. "Ms. Dearing." He adds and alright, fine, the lighting can't hide much right now.

Not that she necessarily wants it to, she's starting to realize.

They continue the conversation throughout dinner and as she learns more about him, she also almost can't help but remember that bad date. Almost can't help but, realize the differences between then and now. No itinerary. No boardshorts (no way in _hell_ is she letting that go). No mention of her diet. Obviously because the minute she'd seen what he'd made for them, her mouth had watered and any thought of counting calories and/or alcohol consumption had fled her mind. Her nerves, that had played a big part of her behavior that night, are practically non-existent. She's laughing at his jokes easily because he's funny and not because she's being polite. She hadn't put any real thought into what she's wearing after her bath because she had been more calm than ever in the last few days and the blue dress had already been hanging front and center in her closet.

She tells him about Karen and the boys who are now safely back in Wisconsin and he, in turn, divulges that Barry has gone to France for a little off time (not that he hasn't earned it), warning him to keep in touch with phonecalls and e-mails.

They never mention the incident. The Indominus. The loss of his raptors. They say nothing of it because now's not the moment for that kind of talk. After going through hell and back, they both deserve this. Deserve a little reprieve.

Not that it's all that healthy but, there it is.

And besides - and this _isn't_ something she wants even compare it to yet - but, she's had worse relationships rooted in even worse foundations. She's stayed in some too long for not the best reasons. For appearances. Because of they'd wanted, not what she had. And sometimes the other way around. She had maintained relationships with men too much like her. Male versions of her work-oriented life and lack of interest in real connection.

So, she thinks she'll excuse herself for wanting to lean on someone who's decent and has cooked her a lovely dinner and looks at her like she's the sun or something equal to it.

She _likes_ him. Has always liked him, in spite of herself. She enjoys his company and is attracted to him in a way she hasn't allowed in her life a very long time. _He_ is attractive to her in a way she's not used to.

And so, if this happens to be a date, she concedes that she will be fine with it. More than fine with it.

 

 

 

Two days after the dinner that had been a second date (he'd made sure to let her know and earned a kiss on the cheek for his troubles, _score!_ ), Owen had moved all his possessions into Claire's apartment. Or, at least, the very little he'd owned on the island when the clean-up crew that Masrani Corp had hired to secure the park sent him his things, which he had not actually thought about until an official signed and sealed letter had come in the mail along with one hefty cardboard box full of his belongings.

"This is one box." Claire had uttered after coming home from debriefings and meetings upon meetings at headquarters to find him sprawled on her pristine living room floor with mounds of books, clothes, and unmentionables surrounding him and he'd explained what it is and where it'd come from. "How could you keep all of your life in one box?"

If this'd been a year ago, he'd have been bristled and maybe had said something like a smartass to squash it down at the tone of her voice that he couldn't decipher. As it is, now he knows she's just being curious and what comes out of his mouth is. "Easy. I don't have a lot." He utters honestly after having organized everything into it's own pile. He could make fun of Claire all he wants to about her need for order but, the regimented existence he'd had on the seaships still bit him in the ass a time or two. "I was hired straight out of the Navy, remember? I lived in small bunks with other dudes on ships. Sailor life equals _not a lotta shit_."

Plus, all of his other stuff. Everything with real sentimental value not having to do with his raptors or his life on the island are all back in Washington State in his childhood home with his mother whom he'd conceited a phonecall where she had proceeded to rant at him about how worried she had been and the news and _everything_ on TV-

But, he says none of that and turns towards the redhead who's sat on the couch near where he'd been literally putting pieces of his life back together again. The business-y, sleeveless dress she'd chosen for work still on save for the blazer she'd uncharacteristically chucked off once in the door and her feet bare, folded beneath her as she nurses a glass of white wine.

He knows for certain she hasn't been sleeping well since they got her and yet, with the subtle notes of make-up and the shiny, red waves she's stopped taking a straightening iron to framing her face, she still manages to look like _that_. Gorgeous. Lovely.

"What?" She asks, visible blushing under his scrutiny, though trying to hide it.

"You look amazing." He says without pause when his tongue could untie itself. "New dress?"

"Oh." She utters, cheeks stained crimson even as she peaks down at the simple, pastel dress she's still got on. "Actually, no. Right in the back of my closet, believe it or not." She looks over at him, all twinkling blue-green eyes and half-smiles. "Why? You like it?"

He lets his eyes over her slowly, loving the subtle swell of her hips, the long lines of her body under the dress, before meeting her gaze once more. "I always like it."

More flushing and he's momentarily concerned that she's not getting any more blood left in the rest of her body. "Be serious." She says with a sort, nervous laugh and gets up from the couch. Giving him the perfect view of her ass.

He lets out a low whistle before retorting. "I'm always serious!"

They've formed a routine, he realizes soon enough. Even though in this whole thing (arrangement? relationship? _roommateship?_ ), she's the one who has go to Masrani Corp and deal with mounds of paperwork that sometimes spills over into the house and press releases and condolence letters and every single stressful thing having to do with the fucking park and it's uncertain future, he's the one to get up before her. Rolling out of bed in expensive sheets in her guestroom before arming himself in sneakers and sweats to go for a run on the beach just outside the door. Makes sure to start the coffee before stepping out so, Claire won't have to worry about at least one thing in the morning. Sets the enveloped letters she'd finished the night before along with her wallet and notebook next to the coffeemaker so, it'll be _right there_ and she will spot it before leaving.

Basically making sure her morning starts off without a hitch before she's even out the door.

It's the least he could do considering he's penniless and unemployed.

That and making dinner every now and again to make sure she eats when she gets home. Learning that she appreciates green salads, diet or not. She enjoys his pastas and appreciates his garlic bread. Loves (once he starts in on the untouched ground beef in her freezer) his burgers and homemade fries. He's honestly spoiled with her enthusiasm towards his cooking.

It's a whole new level of intimacy he'd never thought he would have with another... Without there being sex in the equation and even _then_.

Of course, that kind of energy does linger under the surface. Simmers. A little, percolating heat between the two of them that sometimes catches them both off guard and causes him to consider shoving aside all pretenses and laying one on her during one their frequent moments together. But, he doesn't because he does get it - she's under piles of paperwork and meetings and handling things - and won't rock the boat because of confessions during and after a crisis.

Confessions he knows they both had meant. He _knows_. He'd felt in the kiss she had given him after that dinner their first night here together. The way he knows they meet eyes for a moment too long. This... attraction that he doesn't think he can fight anymore. This growing affection that keeps stewing every time she comes home, exhausted and grumpy, only to smile once he cracks a joke to elevate the mood a bit.

But, again, he won't push. If he's learned anything from his years in the Navy and then all that time with the girls, is that good things come to those who wait.

And he's nothing if not a patient man.

 

 

 

It's not all sunshine and rainbows. Not that Claire ever really thought it had been those first few weeks, it'd just felt pretty damn close. With the big exception of having to deal with Masrani Corp on a near daily basis and lawyers and paperwork and ugh, every single bit of stress that she cannot believe she'd ever reveled in once upon a time.

No, it's more the nightmares. More like she has them.

She sees the faces of the many people she'd failed in that park. Zach and Gray getting ripped to pieces in front of her eyes. And what Zara's last moments probably were. And Owen...

She hasn't been sleeping all that well to begin with since they had gotten back anyway so, the ensuing weeks of those horrible dreams just add more to an already awful fire. And even when she can catch those few precious moments of rest, it never quite feels the same. The whole 'needing a whole eight hours' thing had never been her. Ever since business school, she doesn't remember ever having had eight hours or more of sleep.

It's such a foreign concept to her now that she hardly recalls getting any even before that.

Even so, she could really use it now. Needs it. Wants it. Is almost close to begging for it. And it's only the thought of Owen. Probably sleeping like a bear across her hallway. Big frame tangled in her expensive sheets in her guest room. Is what calms her enough to actually grabs at those little bit of hours of sleep.

She's never been that person. Never been that woman. Needing anyone, let alone a man, to keep her safe. Sane. Even with a hall and a few doors between them, completely away from danger.

Karen hasn't been alone since they'd been teenagers. She'd loved dating. Enjoyed meeting guys and socializing.

Claire simply never had a flair for it.

And now, a man she had hardly known weeks ago it seems, is the safest presence in the world to her.

Though, surprisingly, even as it's him and the fact that he is the most solid thing keeping her afloat most days, it takes a while to come up with a clear solution to her sleeping problem until she's padding, wearing only panties and a nightshirt down her long hallway, feet bare on her cold floor, towards that guest room.

Owen's room.

She can admit she's in a bit of a haze. Her mind is going in all different directions and she can hardly believe what she's about to do.

Another two quiet steps and she's at the door... then, after hesitating, opens it.

And there he is.

She shouldn't feel surprised that he's bare-chested but... as she steps closer, she can see _everything_. He's all tanned thick muscle and broad angles. Long, strong body splayed. Relaxed and large. Tangled in sheets the way she'd imagined before. Chiseled lines of his face still in slumber. One arm above his head under the pillow with the other fisted along white sheets hanging low on the 'V' of his hipbones.

She is reminded then of first meeting him, oddly. Being so attracted to him to the point of mortification and taking that irritation out on him the minute he'd opened his smirking mouth to tell her to call him Owen, instead of Mr. Grady, for the first time of many.

There's a part of her - the part of her that's still lucid enough at this point in her slight fog now - that almost, just barely, hopes he's not fully naked. Just a little bit. This whole thing between the two of them, notwithstanding.

That's not why she's here anyway (she thinks). She just wants to sleep. She's too tired right now to be ashamed of wanting a warm body to lie next to in order to get some much needed rest. And she's not naïve enough to not take into account that the body belongs to someone she trusts.

"Hmp!" He grunts as she slides into the bed, immediately cuddling up into his big frame without much thought. Feeling all that strength and easy power as she folds into his side, even though he's stirring like a lion after a day's rest. Exhaling fresh soap and laundry detergent. "Claire. Is that you-"

"Shh." She shushes, placing a hand on the somewhat hammering heartbeat beneath his broad chest. Her hand feeling ridiculously dainty and small and _pale_ when compared to the general width of him. Their body compositions a joke in itself. "Go back to sleep." She murmurs, already feeling more at ease and heading towards a hopefully dreamless slumber.

Hopefully.

"Are you sure?" He asks, voice thick, husky with sleep and uncertainty - even as he responds to her curling into him like she's thought of so many times during nights spent quietly on the couch for movies after dinner, broad frame splayed and relaxed and begging for close contact - wrapping a strong arm around her waist. Pulling her effortlessly close and into him. Surprisingly smooth skin and warm, hard muscle greeting more of her.

"Hmm." She hums, barely comprehending his question, she's so damn tired. Though she understands somewhat that his words are too loaded for to get into now anyway.

Though...

"Yes. I'm sure." She whispers, falling into the slumber that's been evading her for soo long. One name on her mind. That's been on her mind for twice as long.

 _Owen_.

 

 

 

One of the first things to spring up in Owen's mind it starts to come back to the waking world is that he's had the best possible sleep in recent memory. He's had a few of his own rough nights since coming back to the States after Isla Nublar. A few bad dreams here and there. Although in different circumstances, it's honestly not something he hasn't dealt with before because of his time in the Navy. Even though it's worse and it's everything from the smell that won't leave his nose to the vivid memories of bodies being caught and thrown around the air, he can deal. He can try, at least.

Nothing like what he knows Claire has been working with lately.

And that segues into the second thing he automatically notices as he stirs. The softness he's holding on to. Slim, slender lines bunched into a ball nearly on top of him. Dainty fingers curled on his chest. The warm, even breaths gusting over the skin of his neck.

And once he glances down at the familiar thatch of red hair in the crook of his arm, he immediately knows who's sleeping in his bed.

Specifically, who'd snuck into it in the middle of the night and had literally cuddled up to him so comfortably that an onlooker could think that they'd been doing this for years.

Nevermind that he's half-naked, wearing only boxer-briefs while their embrace, that seems to have become more intertwined in their sleep, is making it quite clear that she isn't wearing much either.

God, he really needs to get out of this before something embarrassing happens.

They've kissed twice already. They live together. They've told each other personal stories, both embarrassing and otherwise, about their lives. He knows that she suffers from migraines. She knows he still misses his girls. He knows she's both a coffee and tea person. Knows that she takes the former with some sugar and plenty of cream. And the latter with honey, depending.

They are getting to know each other and he doesn't wanna rock the boat.

He doesn't want to push. He won't-

She shifts, knee brushing against his morning hard-on.

Shit. He hisses in an audible breath before he could stop himself and any thought of trying to sneak away in order to not make her uncomfortable is crushed to hell when she moves again and the hand on his chest slides lower and his skin is prickling with awareness and after steeling himself, he turns and looks down...

...Only to find her already gazing at him. Eyes the shade of the clear ocean looking at him with a soft expression he hasn't yet seen from her.

"Hey you."

She's soo fucking beautiful. She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

She makes it difficult to breathe sometimes. "Hey." He utters after he's made certain he won't say something stupid like how gorgeous she looks in his bed or how he'd like to wake up like this everyday if she would let him.

They stare at one another for a long moment and he knows he catches her eyes flicking down to his lips and back again.

He wants her. Very badly. It's so much more than that but, _god_ , does he want her.

"Claire-"

A lone, slender finger goes up and lands on his lips, completely shutting him up. "Shh." She shushes with a suddenly keen, determined look that causes his heart to rap unevenly against his ribs. Locking him into this moment.

Conscious thinking seems impossible enough with her looking at him like that but, it becomes nearly non-existent when she leans and replaces her finger with her own lips. Soft, incredible, perfect lips that he's wanted to taste again since they moved into her house together. Since after those first two kisses back at the island.

This one is nothing like them.

It's soft. Sweet. A meeting and sipping of lips together. Sweet. Almost chaste. It's... good. A good kiss.

Then, she bites at his lip and they both open up. Her with a gasp and he with a low growl he can hardly control. And she's moving. Undulating. Crawling over and on top of him more fully. Her a light, lovely weight pressing on every inch of him. Pale hands sliding over bits of him she wants to. Nails scratching at his chest hair as he sweeps his palms under her nightshirt to get at smooth, hot skin. An amazing, high sound escaping her as he breaks their mouths apart to litter kisses across the skin of her throat.

It's a sweep of limbs and tugging and moving and then she's sitting up, gathering her shirt properly over her head and wow, she's all flawless, alabaster skin and long, elegant lines and once he's swept her down and beneath him and they both work to get his underwear off, there's a shift and then-

" _Ahhh_." She cries softly after a barely audible oh of surprise escapes in a long, sharp breath and he tries very hard to keep himself in check as he slowly slides into more of her. More wetness. More heat. More tightness. More-

He whispers her name in a broken voice he's too caught up in her to be embarrassed about. Surrounding her. Bearing over her. Nipping the flesh of her breasts. Hands mapping over her body. Fingers dipping in the tender area between her legs. Swallowing her moans and high cries until they dissolve into sighs and short breaths of ecstasy.

He doesn't even allow himself release as he waits her out until going again. Wanting to please her once more. Wanting this to last for as long as possible. Needing her to remember this forever.

This is all there is. This moment right here. With the amazing woman who's become everything to him in such a short period of time.

This is all there is. Her. Him. Them. And he's perfectly fine with that.

Because he knows now more than ever that everything that's happened has led him to this. To her. To the happiness just within his grasp. To having this everyday.

This is them. The something he'd wanted them to become.

This is them. This is _everything_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm finishing up weeks after that first author's note *points above* and that last love scene was not at all planned. Hope you enjoyed it!! Thanks for reading!!! :))


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